


Rough Draft

by Cryptix23



Series: Rare Birds [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding, canon suicide mention, rated for language, season 3 concept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptix23/pseuds/Cryptix23
Summary: In 1984, Sir Reginald Hargreeves greets an unexpected guest. In 2019, he greets six expected ones.And then they try to kill him.
Relationships: Hargreeves Siblings
Series: Rare Birds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898632
Comments: 25
Kudos: 368





	Rough Draft

**Author's Note:**

> Finished Season 2 like a week ago and have spent every minute of my free time since writing this.
> 
> This has not been beta-read or sensitivity read. I did some research and hope I did an acceptable job depicting a certain character as an adult.
> 
> Edit: Since this is now the start of a series, I came back to make it fit with some of the later details, particularly with the Sparrows. Aside from Ben their presence is still pretty minimal, though, if OCs are not your thing.

1984.

_Sir Reginald Hargreeves,_

_Probably you won't read this._

Reginald Hargreeves was used to being the smartest person in any given room. Not a matter of ego, but simply a fact of his unique existence. He saw so many outcomes, held so many threads, knew so much more than those around him and manipulated it all to his own ends.

So he did not much appreciate being told things that ran counter to his known facts, because any factor he had not taken into account was surely useless. He appreciated even less being told things about himself by strangers.

So when the letter began,

_Probably you won't read this. You don't know me, but I know you, inasmuch as you allowed yourself to be known--_

he nearly threw it into the wastebin. Absurd.

Not so long ago he'd been forced to reconsider his position on absurdity.

Confronted by a motley group of strangers, calling themselves his children, though he knew he hated children. Saying they had traveled through time, though he knew controlled time travel was nigh impossible. Insisting he was going to help to kill the president, though he knew the president was not to be touched. Preposterous news from ridiculous messengers.

Except it wasn't. He had been too proud to listen to warnings from a scruffy little man with a temper. He had believed the assurances of the bright, polished, powerful Majestic Twelve. Their lies and his belief in them had cost him a woman he loved and the being they had cared for together, that he felt as warmly towards as he supposed parents usually felt toward children.

Such warmth, he was quite sure, he had never felt nor falsified towards those human 'children' who had confronted him. And see how they turned out.

No, he had to admit, his powerful intellect was perhaps not as infallible as he had tacitly come to believe. Failing to see his own weaknesses was a weakness in itself. He had no time for weakness.

So he had read the letter.

And he had sent a reply.

"Your visitor has arrived, Master Hargreeves."

Reginald Hargreeves did not look up from the notes he was busy writing. "Well, show him in!"

A minute later his guest stood in the study doorway. Hargreeves looked up. He considered the man for a moment through his monocle. He gestured. "Take a seat."

His guest stepped forward and held out a hand. The chair slid smoothly to him like a well-trained dog.

Hargreeves nodded. He closed his notebook and folded his hands.

"Harlan, was it?"

The letter lay open on his desk. _Probably you won't read this_ , it began. It ended with a drawing in jet-black ink: an icon of an open umbrella.

* * *

April 2nd, 2019.

Even in the sprawling repurposed-city-block that was the Hargreeves mansion, fitting fourteen people in a room for a serious discussion was a nontrivial matter. The air teemed with confused anticipation, unspoken questions, and subdued hostility. A clear divide showed the loyalties of those present: six on one side, unkempt and outdated and shifty; seven on the other, sleek and uniformed and bright, aside from the one that was inexplicably a glowing cube. And in the middle, looming imperiously over his thirteen grown children: Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

A nervous laugh broke the heavy silence. On the side with the sparrow-embroidered uniforms, a small Black woman with an anxious, earnest smile fidgeted with the hem of her long red coat. "This is, uh, really awkward. Does anyone mind if I calm things down?" Carla looked around hopefully.

Some of the others considered. One of the six, pale little Vanya in the armchair, moved her hands in a shrug. Skinny Klaus with the haunted green eyes looked interested. Scarred, scowling Diego, leaning against the pillar, quashed their tentative agreement with a sharp, "No way. No mental effects. You stay out of our heads."

"Diego," his other sister, elegant dark-skinned Allison, admonished, though it seemed to be more out of habit than disagreement.

"I'm with Diego," chimed the incongruous thirteen-year-old with the short pants and tall socks and all-too-serious expression. "If we're going to have a _family meeting_ \--" Five flashed a sickly sweet smile across the divide, one that didn't fit his boyish face. "--we may as well all be authentic." He hopped to his feet, snatching up the big black briefcase he'd been sitting on, and strode past the seven towards the bar. "Anyone else want a drink? _In vino veritas_."

Klaus raised a hand, flashing the _HELLO_ tattooed on his palm. "Please."

One of the Sparrows, a squat stocky fellow whose face was a mess of pink scars, answered, "hell yeah, little man."

Another, all long thin limbs poking out of a shapeless sweater, narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you twelve?"

"Try fifty-eight, dear," Five replied. He didn't look away from ransacking the bar as he answered the confused looks, "Time travel. Apocalypse. Long story."

The confused looks turned towards Sir Reginald. "I thought you said time travel--"

"Is nigh impossible," Sir Reginald interrupted, "difficult to control, and exceedingly dangerous, with a high potential for unintended effects. Case in point."

Five raised a freshly-mixed whiskey-and-water. "Don't try it at home, kiddies." He rested his other hand protectively on the briefcase.

Sir Reginald cleared his throat. "If we're all--"

" _What_ are you looking at?"

Another Sparrow, lean tousle-haired Ben with a scar on his cheek, glared daggers across the divide. Seated all but at Sir Reginald's side, he had clearly asserted his position as leader and right-hand man.

Vanya averted her gaze. "Nothing," she murmured.

"Well, it must be _something_ , because every one of you assholes keeps _looking_ at me and it's _really_ starting to get on my nerves!"

" _Ben_ ," hissed Carla beside him.

"We're just admiring your bone structure," Klaus said airily, "It's really very fine. And the mustache, very fetching."

"Hey," Diego called, cutting off a retort to Klaus, "you wanna yell at somebody, squidboy, you yell at me."

"What did you call me, you evolutionary throwback?"

Diego's lip curled in something that could be either a smirk or a scowl. "You sure you don't want to sprinkle some cussing in there? You're starting to sound like dad."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Diego laughed. "Christ, he's even more of a suck-up than you, Luther."

The final member of the six had been silent until now, his hulking form settled onto the couch. Luther cracked a rueful smile. "Yeah, well, he wasn't abandoned on the moon for four years. Give him time." Allison laid a hand on his broad shoulder, and his smile softened.

Ben's brow crinkled in confusion. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"If you are all _quite_ finished!" Sir Reginald barked.

Silence. Attention turned to the patriarch.

Then, "No."

Sir Reginald blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No," Diego repeated. "We're not finished."

All eyes were now on Diego, bearing mixed expressions of confusion and frustration, even from his side. Limping slightly, he stalked over in front of the couches, letting the anticipation build, savoring the drama. With the air of a lawyer delivering a coup de gras, he leaned towards Sir Reginald and said, "You assassinated Kennedy."

Another beat of stunned silence.

Then the room exploded with confused voices. Ben's rose above all with an emphatic "What the _actual fuck_ is wrong with you?" At least three voices called Diego's name. If Sir Reginald were capable of doing something so undignified as roll his eyes, they would have rolled out of his head and into the sun.

"Guys, this is _important_ ," Diego insisted to the Umbrella side of the room. "We need to deal with this." He didn't bother protesting his case to the Sparrows. He dropped onto the couch beside Allison, folding his arms petulantly.

As the noise died down, the Sparrows reluctantly quieting at a gesture from Sir Reginald, Diego stared at him expectantly.

"You are _still_ on about that?"

"Was yesterday for me, old man. Still fresh on my mind."

"Doubt anything is fresh in your mind," one of the Sparrows muttered. Diego chose to ignore it, as he was much more preoccupied trying to stare down his erstwhile father. Sir Reginald pointedly ignored his gaze in favor of polishing his monocle.

"First of all, _I_ did not _assassinate_ Kennedy--" 

"You were complicit," Diego interrupted.

Sir Reginald scowled. He fitted his monocle back into place. Then, steadily meeting Diego's gaze, he said--

"Yes."

Diego blinked.

" _What_?" Ben whispered.

"I was complicit in the assassination of President Kennedy. I was assured by my associates that he would not be harmed. However, I was lied to."

Diego shot a glance back at his siblings. Luther, Allison, Klaus, Vanya, even Five -- each met him with equal disbelief. Reginald Hargreeves was admitting fault?

"You will be happy to hear that I dealt personally with the people responsible."

"The Majestic Twelve?" Diego said.

"I do believe that is what the conspiracists called us, yes. And I..." The next words seemed to pain him, but he soldiered through. "Apologize, Number-- Diego. I could have avoided quite a bit of trouble if I had taken your warnings seriously, and I did not. It was an error of judgment on my part."

Every one of the Umbrella siblings tensed. Vanya, somehow, grew paler. Five set his glass down with deliberate care. Klaus uncurled. Allison planted her feet hard on the floor. The couch creaked under Luther's shifting bulk. Diego's hand slipped out of sight as he shot another look around, and this time every eye that met his was sharp and cold as the knife in his palm. One thought reverberated between all of them.

Luther was the one to speak it. "Who are you?"

The Sparrows picked up the change in mood too late. Carla let out a cry. Ben leapt to his feet. He was a half-second slower than Allison.

" _I heard a rumor that you stayed out of this._ "

Their faces contorted as they struggled against the reprogramming. Tentacles writhed from Ben's stomach. The cube hummed with light. The slender woman's gritted teeth glowed. But they backed away. They didn't have a choice.

"What are you doing?" Sir Reginald demanded. He held his ground as Diego and Luther advanced on him.

"Answer the question, _dad_ ," Diego hissed. "Who are you?"

"I am Sir Reginald Hargreeves," he said steadily. "I am your father. And I am telling you to stand down."

"Wrong answer," growled Luther.

"Reginald Hargreeves never apologized for anything in his life," Klaus said, his voice so hard and accusatory that it was almost unrecognizable.

"What is wrong with you?" Ben demanded. "Leave him alone!" His protests went unheeded.

Sir Reginald took a step back, calculating gaze darting between Luther looming over him and Diego's knife glinting in his periphery. He knew how Diego fought, could take him alone, but Luther was a partial unknown. Best to take him out first. Sir Reginald jabbed his hand out. It stopped short. A black tie wrapped around his arm, with Five's sneering face behind it. "None of that, old man." Icy cold hands gripped his other arm, an outline of a figure, whose edges matched the pale blue glow in Klaus's raised hands.

And then Luther had picked him up and slammed him down onto the table, knocking the air out of him, and Diego's knife pressed cold against his throat.

"Who. Are. You." Diego repeated.

"So," Sir Reginald gasped, "you _can_ work as a team."

The flinch was almost imperceptible, but both Diego and Luther did flinch. Sir Reginald's eyes glinted.

"You think we won't do it, you son of a bitch?" Diego said. A flick of the wrist and pain sliced across Sir Reginald's cheek.

"No, please!" Carla cried, "Don't hurt him! Please!"

Diego winced again. Sir Reginald focused on him, catching his gaze and holding it like a beetle to a pinboard. "What is it you want to hear me say this time, child?" He hissed. "That, thanks to you, I'm a changed man? That I saw you sorry lot in 1963 and realized how many mistakes I must have made? That you're a broken prototype, a rough draft that I threw out and started fresh and did right the _second_ time around?"

With every word, Luther's grip loosened. Diego's knife trembled against his skin. Klaus's ghostly ally vanished. No one made a sound, even the Sparrows stunned to silence.

"Would that be enough to convince you of my _authenticity_?" Each syllable dripped with Sir Reginald's particular venom. "Or are you going to stop faffing about and kill me?"

The knife pressed harder, for a moment, forcing his chin up. Then it was gone, leaving behind a thin line of red where it had broken the skin. Diego backed away, shaking. Slowly, Luther and Five backed away as well. Sir Reginald sat up. He smoothed his suit and flicked out a handkerchief to press against his cuts.

Diego swallowed heavily. "The t-- The truth comes out."

And then he laughed. A little exhalation, then a chuckle, then a full-on guffaw. Klaus snorted and began to laugh as well. Then Luther, Vanya, Allison.

Even Five, who'd had forty-odd years to work through his issues with their upbringing, still couldn't help but be caught up in the wave of hysteria. Laughter was better than the alternative.

Ben stared in angry, uncomprehending disbelief. "You're all psychopaths."

"Yeah," Vanya agreed in gasping breaths. "Yeah, we are." And that only prompted more laughter.

Five caught his breath. "I think-- I think we've overstayed our welcome," he said, gesturing to his Umbrella siblings.

Luther nodded, still giggling. "I think so."

"We are not finished here!" Sir Reginald snapped, raising his voice above the laughter. "Return at once! I must explain--"

Whatever he had to explain, it went unheard. The six walked out the door, leaning on each other as their hysterics continued, Five ushering them out like a sheepdog with a flock.

As they disappeared from sight, Five phased back to the bar in a _wumph_ of displaced air, picked up his briefcase and raised his glass again towards Sir Reginald. "To your second draft," he sneered. He downed the drink and vanished. The cut crystal smashed against the floor at the same time the front door slammed shut.

The rumor's hold broke. Carla and the pink-scarred Sparrow rushed to Sir Reginald's side. Sir Reginald waved away their concern with a frustrated exhalation. Ben lead a charge towards the door. "They won't get far, we can catch--"

"Number One!"

Ben stopped in his tracks. "Dad--" he protested.

"Let them go."

"But they--"

"Do not make me repeat myself, Number One."

Ben shared a glance with his siblings. He sighed. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Five got them three blocks away before the other half of the hysteria hit. It was the rain that did it. A sudden downpour, rolling in from nowhere and drenching them all to the bone in minutes.

"Don't suppose anyone has an umbrella?" Klaus chirped. It was pitched too high, the levity forced.

"No," Luther answered. "No Umbrellas here."

Five heard the crack in his voice and herded them all into the nearest alley. They were hardly off the street before Luther sagged against a wall. He buried his head in his hands, his massive shoulders shaking.

Diego stalked to the middle of the alley before he dropped to his knees and let out a scream, a primal sound of rage and pain. He pounded his fists against the pavement and screamed again, and again.

Allison slid down a wall and hugged her knees tightly, and sobbed.

Klaus and Vanya crumpled together to the ground, clinging to each other, crying into the other's shoulders.

Five leaned against the mouth of the alley, keeping watch. Generally he cared more about his siblings' lives than their dignity -- but this was a personal grief. No prying eyes needed to set on this scene. In that, the rain helped. The suddenness cleared the streets of curious pedestrians. The white noise drowned out their wails. It kept their misery confined to this place, their own little secret corner of the world.

His eyes stung. He rubbed them irritably. No, he wasn't crying. He was too old for his father's words to hurt him the way they hurt the others. ...He was too old, too, to pretend like it didn't hurt at all.

Five gave them as much time as he could stand. When he no longer heard their cries, he turned back. He took in his siblings, huddled on the concrete, soaked and bedraggled and utterly defeated. Rejects. Cast-offs. The rough drafts with their ink running into the ditch. If Sir Reginald could see them now--

His eyes stung again and he blinked it away.

"We need to go."

"Go _where_?" Allison said, her voice hoarse. "Our home is gone. We don't even exist here. Our lives-- my _daughter_ \--" She started to sob again.

God, Five had forgotten about Claire. He wiped his eyes again.

"I-- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but we need to go somewhere. Anywhere that isn't here."

"I have a place," Klaus croaked. Eyeliner streaked down his cheeks and he cradled Vanya against his chest, absently rubbing her shoulder. "Maybe. I had a place, a few miles from here, I don't know if it's still around--"

Five nodded. He set the briefcase next to Klaus. "I'll get us a car."

* * *

A cloud of dust billowed out from the door Klaus slid open. He coughed and waved it away, forging ahead.

The hideaway was, miraculously, still accessible. They had to break in to the building that it was tucked beneath, but the place was long-abandoned, nothing but a storefront plastered with flyers. The thick layer of dust in the hideaway proved it hadn't been accessed in a long time, either, though whether it was the dust of one decade or five, none of them could say. Their dripping clothes stirred it into cloying grey mud.

Thin light filtered through two newspaper-covered windows set high in the far wall, just enough to see by. From the raised counter by one wall, it looked like it had once been a bar, perhaps even a speakeasy. The layout was all that remained of that heritage. Furniture was strewn about, a mishmash of couches, chairs, mattresses, a few cabinets.

Not ideal, certainly, but it was insulated and out of the rain. Far from the worst place they'd crashed.

Klaus uttered a triumphant cry from one of the cabinets. He spun and presented several dusty bottles.

"First tenet of the Destiny's Children: Always keep the liquor stocked. Who wants to get shitfaced?"

"Klaus--" Diego grabbed him and kissed his shaggy hair. "I _love_ you."

"Love you, too, bro," Klaus said with genuine fondness. "Grab the rest of those, we're gonna need all of it."

"Fuck yeah, we are," Luther agreed. "Let's get wasted."

* * *

Back in the Sparrow Academy, the eponymous Sparrows had dispersed. Sir Reginald had disappeared into his study. Across the open mezzanine, Ben sat in a plush viewing chair, ignoring the beautiful art on the walls in favor of watching the study door.

The scent of fresh-steeped tea wafted to him. Carla pressed a cup and saucer into his hand.

"Anything?"

"Pops went in about--" Ben checked his watch. "Twenty minutes ago."

"What do you think they're talking about?"

"Battle plans, hopefully."

Carla rolled her eyes. "He obviously wanted something from those people, he's not going to just send us against them."

"They're a bunch of lunatics and we don't need whatever they're selling."

"What do you think that is?" Carla asked pointedly.

"Don't care."

"Ben." Carla waited until he looked up at her. "You and I saw the same thing back there."

"I saw them try to kill Dad because he said he was sorry. Like psychos."

"Like people who've been hurt so much that they can't see softness as anything but a trap."

"Exactly. Like psychos."

Carla huffed. "You're not listening."

"I try not to when you get into your touchy-feely shit."

"You're such an asshole," she snapped, flouncing off. Ben didn't bother to deny it.

The study door opened. "Number One!"

Ben set the teacup on the plush seat and launched himself over the balustrade. Tentacles shot from his stomach. Unearthly flesh gripped the molded pillars and railings, swinging him over the open space and depositing him smoothly upon the balcony on the other side. He withdrew the tentacles, smoothed his uniform, and went in.

Sir Reginald sat at his desk, hands folded expectantly. Seated before him, his back to the door, was a grey-haired man in a plain but well-tailored outfit. The man tipped his head as Ben entered. He absently turned a cane over and over in his hands, waning sunlight sliding over every contour of the golden bird at its head.

Sir Reginald spoke. "Number One, I have a very important mission for you."

Ben stood at attention, his chest puffed.

"Those people who were here earlier. I need you to bring them back here."

"Collect prisoners, you got it."

"Not prisoners. Guests."

Ben looked confused. Then his eyes widened. " _No_."

"I see you've caught on."

"Dad, they tried to kill you!"

"They acted to contain a perceived anomaly. With admirable speed and cooperation, I might add."

"Are-- are you praising them for trying to _kill you_?" Ben couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I am well aware of what happened, Number One, I _was_ there. Do I need to send one of the others on this mission?"

Ben quickly shook his head. "No. No, I-- No, sir. I'm just--" He composed himself with difficulty. "How am I supposed to find them?"

A pen rose from Sir Reginald's desk, stood on its point, and began to write. A few words, a soft _tap_ of punctuation, and the pen lifted off the paper. It turned lazily in the air, as if suspended from an invisible thread.

Ben leaned in to read the precise inked lines. He turned to the man in the chair. "You can sense them? Why?"

The man did not move except to keep spinning his cane. The pen set down and wrote again.

Ben shook his head. "No. No way you're going out there. Those people are way too dangerous."

More writing, a long message this time. Ben opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, waiting until the pen had lifted. He read over the lines several times before finally sighing.

"Of course I'll go with you. Just... let me handle it my way, okay?"

The man tipped his head forward in a nod. The pen dropped. A metal ferrule rang out a soft note as he planted the cane on the ground and rose.

Ben followed him out, his face drawn in an anxious frown.

* * *

"The thing I don't get," Luther started. He took a swig from a dusty bottle. "The thing I don't get, is why-- why it hurt so much this time. Is that just me?"

Murmurs rose up from around the room. At his side, Allison shook her head.

Diego sat on a futon, his back against a couch that had once been loudly floral, now faded to grey. "Not just you, big guy."

"Definitely not," Vanya slurred from the couch itself. Klaus, lying on a mattress kitty-cornered with Luther's and Diego's, raised his bottle in agreement.

Five, seated in a sagging armchair, said nothing.

"I mean," Luther continued, "We all know he's a prick. He gets under our skin. We all... we all learned to cope. But that back there... that _hurt_."

"Yeah," Diego said softly. "...Yeah."

"It was easier," Allison said, "because that was just how he was. Dad's just... a prick. Nothing we could do to change it. Then you see that he could have been a decent person all along... or pretended to be. He could have done that all along, and he just, just never bothered with us. That's the part that hurts."

Klaus propped himself on his elbow, eyes bright with tears and admiration. "Wow. You put it into words."

Diego nodded a little too enthusiastically. "We-- we fucking handed him a second chance. And he couldn't give it back to us. That fucking... fucking _prick_." He punched the futon, then hissed and shook out his hand, fresh scabs running red again. Punching concrete earlier had left its mark.

Klaus rose with some difficulty, swaying like a tree in a gale. "A toast!" He announced. "Esteemed brothers and sisters, I propose a toast." Gin sloshed over his hand as he extended his bottle. "Fuck Reginald Hargreeves!"

"I'll drink to that!" Diego staggered to his feet and clinked his bottle with Klaus's. "Fuck Reginald Hargreeves!"

"Hear, hear!" Allison cheered. "Fuck Reginald Hargreeves."

"Fuck Reginald Hargreeves!" Luther agreed.

Vanya raised an empty hand and slurred, " _Fuck_. Reginald Hargreeves."

Five considered his bottle. At length, he offered a solemn, "Fuck Reginald Hargreeves."

As Klaus and Diego fell back onto their asses, the chorus went around again. Five didn't join, just took another drink while they giggled and told off their absent adoptive father. They needed the catharsis. He didn't want to admit that he probably did, too.

" _Fuck_ dad," Diego murmured finally.

Silence gathered slowly, each of them falling into their own drunken thoughts.

Apropos of nothing, Diego said, "What if we use the briefcase?"

Five's heel reflexively tapped against it, reassuring himself it was still at his feet.

"For what?" Luther said.

"To--" Diego gestured vaguely. "I don't know. Fix it."

"And, what? Go back to how it was? To our... sad little lives? Allison's the only one with anything to go back to."

"There you go. We can at least fix that."

"Can we?" Allison said, her voice hoarse. "Look at how that's worked out for us. Every time we try to fix something it just ends up worse."

"Maybe we could just... go?" Klaus suggested.

"What do you mean?" groaned Vanya.

"I mean, go. Explore. Find somewhen nice to settle down, where we don't have to worry about apocalypses and academies and timetravel assassins--"

Diego wasn't ready to let his idea go. "The Commission! They could help us fix it. They-- they owe us one. Five, tell them."

Five didn't meet Diego's eyes. "We're even with the Commission."

"Nah, nah," Diego insisted. "Herb's a stand-up guy, he'd help us out."

"Herb might not still be there when we hear from them again. A day on our end might be a decade on theirs."

"But you do think we'll hear from them?" Diego said, hopefully.

"Diego!" The hurt in Allison's voice shut him up. " _Please_. Can we just... can we figure this out later?" Luther put his arm around her and she sank into his hold, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Later is good," Klaus said. "Those are not a fun party toy. Hey, I ever tell you guys about--"

Five tuned out Klaus's story and took another drink, grateful for the turn in the conversation. He leaned down and pulled the briefcase into his lap, the weight familiar and comforting.

The timeline had changed dramatically. The Commission _would_ try to fix it.

* * *

Ben turned to his passenger. "Here? You're sure?"

The place didn't look like... well, anything. A row of dilapidated storefronts, papered with concert flyers and condemnation notices, glowing orange under an uncertain streetlight. The rain had let up, but water still dripped steadily from roof-edges.

A pad and pen rose into the air, scratching out a message. Ben let out a breath through his nose. "Okay. I'll find it."

The pen scratched.

"No, this place is falling apart. It might be dangerous. You stay in the van."

Scratch, scratch.

"Pops, please. Let me handle this. I'll bring them out here for you to talk to them."

A long pause, then the pen scratched briefly. Ben smiled and stepped out into the cool night.

* * *

"Hey, Klaus?"

Klaus muttered something incoherent.

"Klaus."

He rolled over on the mattress. "Yeah, Vanya?"

"Where's the bathroom in here?"

"Oh. Yeah." He furrowed his brow in thought. "Uh. That way? I think?"

He closed his eyes again, listening to Vanya's stumbling steps fade away in the direction that he was pretty sure lead to a bathroom. Mostly sure. Like, sixty-five percent? Look, he hadn't been here in awhile, and even if he remembered the right direction, it would be a miracle if the plumbing still worked.

He continued to listen, to the steady dripping of water outside the window, the faraway rumble of car engines, his siblings breathing around him. None of them were quite asleep, but none of them were fully conscious, either. Every so often one would shift or mutter something or take another drink.

It was nice. Comforting. To just lay here, listening to them breath, all of them together.

All of them, except--

No, he didn't want to think about that right now. One trauma at a time. For right now, he could enjoy this. The ghosts were quiet, even the ones that alcohol alone couldn't usually chase away. It was just him and his family, here.

There was a scratching sound, too. Probably mice. The place was old enough. That was fine. They'd figure out someplace else to go in the morning. Together.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he heard the door swish open. Careful steps creaked across the floorboards toward him. Vanya coming back? No, that wasn't right, but his gin-addled senses couldn't be sure why not.

Light flicked across his eyelids. Klaus winced. Once it was gone, he opened his eyes, blinking up into the dim room. A flashlight. Someone was holding a flashlight, and in its glow he could faintly make out... "Ben?"

Had to be Ben. The face was right. The expression, the lighting, not-so-right, but that had to be a trick of the liquor. No, this was definitely Ben. He was scowling because he didn't like when Klaus drank himself into a near-stupor like this. Of course.

Klaus grinned cheekily and pulled the bottle from the crook of his arm. "Want a drink?"

He didn't expect for Ben to take the bottle. Even more surprisingly, he took a swig. Klaus stared for a long moment as he tried to process this. Realization, eventually, dawned.

"Oh, right, you're alive now. Body and stuff. Nice."

"Christ, you're pathetic." Ben set the flashlight down on a nearby table.

The others were just beginning to catch on to his presence and stir. "Ben?" Allison murmured, groggy. Five started to sit up, frowning.

A seething mass of tentacles burst from Ben's stomach, wrapping around the Umbrella team and lifting their bodies into the air. The briefcase hit the floor with a heavy _thud_. Allison started to yelp, but the tentacle around her slapped down over her mouth. Diego managed to free an arm and plunge a knife into the tentacle holding him, but another took its place and suspended him upside down, a third squeezing his wrist until he dropped the knife. Luther kept struggling even as three separate tentacles squeezed his arms tight to his sides.

"Keep fighting and I twist the hippie's head off like a bottlecap," Ben shouted. A tendril gripped Klaus's head. Luther stilled.

The tentacles swayed gently. Luther, Allison, and Five glared at Ben. Klaus and Diego mostly looked very green. Ben regarded his captives coldly. "I really should just tear you all apart now," he said, more to himself than to any of them. "Tell Pops I found you that way."

 _Whumph_. The tentacle holding Five was suddenly coiled around air. Five hit the floor and stumbled, barely catching himself on the armchair. He cursed. Mentally, he was sobering up quickly, but physically, he was far too inebriated to be in top form.

Ben chuckled. "I've seen your trick. I'll warn you now, kid, you might be able to take me out, but not before I tear at least one of your siblings into bloody chunks. Want to pick which one?"

Five put up his hands. "Okay," he said shakily. "I won't try anything. We all know what you're capable of, Ben."

Ben tilted his head. "Do you?" He said. "Because I think you need a demonstration." Another tentacle shot out, snatching the briefcase from behind Five's legs and knocking him off his feet. The briefcase flipped into the air.

"No!" Five shouted. He stretched his arm towards the briefcase as it sailed through the air. If he could just--

Then two tentacles gripped it and, as easily as tearing a piece of paper, ripped the heavy machine in half in a shower of blue sparks.

Another briefcase lost. Another doorway closed. Five's fingers curled in defeat as his siblings groaned.

Ben winced in mock sympathy. "Oo, sorry. Was that important?"

"You have no idea," Five replied. He stood, bracing himself on the armchair. "Okay," he said. "Okay, Ben. You clearly have all the power here. What do you want?"

Ben pursed his lips. "Kiiiind of want you assholes to suffer a little for attacking my dad," he admitted. "Return the favor, you know? Mostly, I want answers. Where's the other one?"

"What other one?" Klaus asked.

"Don't play dumb, I know you're not _that_ drunk," Ben warned. The tentacle around Klaus squeezed until he gasped. "The mousy chick with the forehead."

"Oh, right," Klaus wheezed, "that other one."

"She's gone," Five said.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Believe it or don't. She's gone either way. She didn't approve of how we handled things back there. We argued. She left. We came here and started drinking."

Ben and Five stared each other down, waiting for the other to blink. Five didn't flicker an eyelash. He'd passed less convincing lies to more incredulous targets.

Unfortunately, that's when Vanya turned the corner with a confused murmur, "Guys, what're you--?" Her sleepy eyes shot open as she focused on the situation. "Ben?!"

Five huffed in frustration. So much for that effort.

Ben smirked. "Nice try. I almost bought it." Five smiled sarcastically in return.

"Vanya, stay back!" Luther yelled.

Vanya didn't listen. She stumbled forward, grabbing the back of Five's chair to steady herself. "Ben, what are you doing?"

"I'm asking the questions now!" Ben snapped. His dark eyes passed over his captive audience. They waited. He ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully before settling on his first question. "When you first saw dad, you were surprised to see him alive. I understand you're from an alternate timeline. Which one of you killed him there?"

"Oh, he did," Klaus answered.

"Why the hell would he do that?"

Diego spoke up, his voice slurred from both alcohol and the blood rushing to his head. " 'Cuz he fucked us up so much, the only way to get us all back in the same room was for his funeral."

"And how do you know that? Did he leave a note?"

"He told me," Klaus said. Ben furrowed his brow. "I talk to dead people. Did we not cover this? It's so hard to keep track of which version of who knows what. Hey, can you turn Diego over? He's not looking so hot."

"Good, I hope he pukes."

"Yeah, but then it'll smell like puke in here, and do you really want that?"

Ben considered Klaus's argument. At length, the tentacle holding Diego tipped him right-side up.

" _Thank_ you," Klaus said.

"Shut up," Ben replied. He leveled a stare at Vanya. "Next question. Why the fuck do you all keep looking at me like that?"

Vanya averted her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"That's not fair, you're sort of the center of attention right now," Klaus said.

"No, you-- _shut up_." Ben took a deep breath to collect himself. "I'm used to people being afraid of me. That's normal. But-- back in the Academy, when you all first saw me, you didn't look scared. You looked... I don't know. Surprised. Like..." He gestured vaguely with both his hands and a couple free tentacles, searching for the words he needed. "You keep acting like you know me, even though I've never seen any of you in my life, but when I walked in there, it was like you never expected to see me again."

"Like we saw a ghost?" Klaus suggested.

"Yes! Exactly. Shut up." Ben turned his attention back to the rest of them. "And after that, you all kept staring at me, whenever you thought I wasn't looking. Like you were... waiting for something. And when I walked in here..." he didn't finish the thought, but the puzzle pieces were clicking into place.

When no one spoke, Ben looked up again with a scowl. "Well?"

"You already know the answer," Five said.

"Tell me anyway."

Only Five was looking at him now. The others were all far away.

"You're dead," Diego said.

"You died in 2006," Luther said. "Dad told us it was our fault. At your funeral. He told us that you were dead because we weren't good enough."

"How did it happen?" Ben asked.

No one answered. Ben frowned. "How," he repeated, "did it _happen_?"

"Why does it matter?" Luther snapped. "You obviously didn't die at sixteen, so what do you care?"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Guilty conscience?"

Diego interjected, "Hey, fuck you!"

"Do you want to be upside-down again?" Silence. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Ben's eyes swept over them again. The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional _drip-drip_ of rainwater from somewhere out of sight. "So dad was a jackass at my funeral," Ben finally said. "That why you want to kill him?"

Diego laughed. "God, no. It should be."

"That, or the locking in a crypt," said Klaus.

"Or how shitty he was to mom," Diego added.

"Or the moon thing."

Ben looked to Luther. "Okay, what the fuck is this 'moon thing'?"

Luther managed to shrug one shoulder. "Dad made me like... this. Then decided he couldn't stand the sight of me, so he shipped me on a bogus research mission to the moon."

"Shit," Ben muttered.

"Listen," Klaus said, "If you want all our possible motives for going after dear ol' dad, you're gonna be here awhile."

"Shut up. I'm not going to tell you again." Ben turned to Five. "What about you, kid?"

Shrug. "I was alone in the apocalypse for forty-five years. I gave up my grudges."

"No, you didn't," said Diego.

"I gave up on anything that wasn't directly related to stopping aforementioned apocalypse," Five corrected. "Better?" Diego made a noise of acceptance.

Ben turned that thought over. "So that one wasn't his fault?"

Five made a vague gesture. "Eh. Me getting stuck was completely my own hot-headedness. The apocalypse part was indirectly his fault."

"Huh. Yeah." Klaus agreed. The others nodded thoughtfully, except Vanya, who looked uncomfortable.

"And you?" Ben asked her. "What's your beef with my dad?"

Vanya hesitated. "He... was scared of my powers. So he drugged me and lied that I didn't have any."

Ben closed his eyes. He leaned his head back, taking a deep breath. Then he looked back at Vanya and Five with a condescending smirk. "Bullshit."

"Excuse you?" Five said.

"What?" Vanya said. "What do you mean, bullshit?"

"I mean, you're spouting bullshit. All of you. That story of yours proves it. I knew if I pressed long enough, I'd find a weak point, and you're it, sweetheart."

Vanya gripped the back of the chair. "What are you talking about?"

"Look at me." Ben indicated the mass of tentacles emerging from his midsection. A set of disembodied, toothy jaws champed near his navel. "You know what they call me, out there? 'The Horror'. I'm a walking nightmare. My sister vomits lasers. My other sister bends reality with her voice. Dad managed to raise us just fine. So tell me, princess, what the hell could _you_ do that could possibly scare him?"

Vanya swallowed. She stepped forward, fists clenched and white-knuckled. Her voice trembled as she said, "Do you want to find out?"

"Hey, hey, hey now--" Klaus began, only to be muffled by a tentacle.

"I told you to _shut up_." Ben refocused his attention on Vanya. He spread his arms. "Go ahead. Hit me."

Vanya hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you, Ben."

Ben stepped into her space. "I don't think you could if you wanted to." The tentacles contracted. Allison and Klaus let out muffled screams. Diego cried out as something cracked in his chest.

Five and Vanya reacted at the same time. Five blinked away. Vanya lurched forward with a shout. "Stop!" Her cry resonated, the sound bursting out in a wave of energy. He just had time to look surprised. Then it smashed into his body. The tentacles disintegrated as the portal snapped shut. The force lifted him off his feet, sent him sailing back and into the wall-- into a hastily-erected mattress that most certainly had not been there when the wave began. Even so, he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

* * *

Out on the street, the man in the van opened his eyes. His pupils were black points within solid white irises. He blinked and looked out the windshield into the dark night. Another blink, and his irises returned to a watery blue.

The van door swung open. The metal-tipped cane rang a soft note against the pavement.

* * *

Ben groaned. His head was pounding. His chest hurt. His back hurt. His everything hurt. He tried to move and everything hurt even louder. " _Shit_." Cracked ribs, definitely. Bruising. Maybe some internal bleeding. Limbs and spine seemed intact, at least.

"He's waking up," said a far-away voice.

His eyes flickered open to find Five's cheeky little face and Vanya's pale, worried stare hovering over him.

"That hurt a _lot_ more than I thought," Ben admitted groggily.

Five gave a thin smile. "Yeah, he'll be fine." He thumped Ben's chest, prompting a hiss of pain. "Now do you believe us?"

A tap sounded from somewhere over their heads. Vanya looked up sharply. Ben's eyes widened. Another tap, and with it footfalls.

"Do you guys hear that?" Vanya said.

"Pops," Ben groaned, trying to sit up despite the pain from his definitely broken ribs. "I told him to stay in the car." The footfalls grew closer. Step, step, tap. Vanya followed the sound, captivated.

Diego barged into Ben's line of sight. "Well, why don't you be a good little Number," he said as he yanked Ben to his feet by two handfuls of coat, "And go tell him to fuck off?"

Step, step, tap. The steps faltered slightly, uncertain, then continued towards the hidden door.

"Fuck off, Reginald Hargreeves!" Klaus added in the general direction of the door.

Ben's brow furrowed. "What? No. Not _dad_. _Pops_."

Diego stared at him. "The fuck are you talking about?" Confusion loosened his grip.

The footfalls came to a halt in front of the door. Vanya darted forward. Ben slipped out of his coat and launched after her. Tentacles sprouted, stretched, reaching out to catch her. Vanya threw open the door with a clatter.

The metal cane tip struck the floorboards. A note resonated, a wave that passed through Vanya and caught around Ben, freezing him with limbs outstretched.

Vanya, unaware of the frozen horror behind her, grinned. "Harlan?"

The man-- Harlan Cooper, who she had last seen yesterday, in 1963, his prepubescent face looking back through the windshield as his mother drove westward toward California to start her new life -- nodded. He didn't quite look at her, eyes focused somewhere near her chin, but his lips curled in a fond smile.

"Vanya," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Vanya threw her arms around him. "Oh, my god, Harlan! It's so good to see you! You got so tall! How are you? What are you doing here?"

He tapped her arms. "Slow down."

She backed off a little, sheepish. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just so glad to see you."

The others stared.

Harlan raised the cane and brought it down again. Metal rang against floorboards. Ben unfroze all at once, drawing his tentacles back in and clutching his chest, turning apologetic eyes on Harlan. "I was just going to grab her," he whined.

* * *

As Ben helped Harlan to a seat, Vanya ushered her siblings to the side. "I just don't want him to get overwhelmed," she explained.

"No, of course," Luther said.

"We'll be right over here," Allison said.

Vanya smiled gratefully. They watched as she took a seat across from Harlan, Ben hovering anxiously nearby. Harlan produced a pad of paper and a pen and set them on the tabletop between them.

"That's the kid from the barn?" Klaus said, "Didn't she take his powers?"

The pen raised onto its point and began to write.

"Not all of them," Luther observed.

Five looked slowly from the scribbling pen to Luther. "No shit."

The pen finally stopped. Vanya hesitantly leaned over and read the page.

"Harlan, do you mind if I read this out loud? For them?"

Harlan waved his hand. On command, Ben stepped forward, turning the paper and beginning to read.

"I hope you don't mind, but I never quite got used to my voice. It's good to see you again. You deserve an explanation. Let me start at the beginning. When you got your memories back, I saw them, too."

Vanya interrupted with a soft gasp. "Harlan, I'm so sorry--"

Harlan made an impatient gesture. Ben cleared his throat and glared at Vanya. She nodded for him to keep reading.

"I didn't retain all of them. But, like the powers you gave me, I retained a little. I remembered enough to find Reggie in 1984. I wanted to help him. I wanted to--" Ben hesitated. "I wanted to make sure you didn't have to suffer again."

Ben turned to the blank next page. As the pen scribbled furiously, he read along. "I meant to help you, but we found different children this time. Our Sparrows. But he said you would come back, someday. We've kept rooms for you. We want you to come home."

The pen stopped. Ben turned to another page. The pen waited, hovering expectantly.

"What about Sissy?" Vanya asked.

The pen scratched. "She lives at the Academy." It stopped, then wrote out, "I'm not sure how long she has left."

"Can I see her?"

Harlan smiled. "Tomorrow. I think she would like that," Ben read. He smiled, too.

Vanya turned to look at her siblings.

* * *

The Hargreeves siblings stared up at the patchwork facade of the Sparrow, nee Umbrella, Academy. The last time they had all stood here, it had been reduced to rubble, shattered down to the very foundation by Vanya's meltdown. Ironic that only Vanya was eager to return through that black iron gate.

Ben interrupted their personal reveries. "Hey, we're not getting any younger." He gestured them after Vanya and Harlan.

"Speak for yourself," Five quipped. Ben let the gate swing shut in his face. Five blinked through and strode past him.

"Here we go again," Klaus murmured, following after Five.

Allison took a deep breath. She looked at her brothers, touched Luther's arm reassuringly, and headed in.

Diego hesitated, muttered a curse under his breath, and followed.

Luther lingered at the gate just a few moments longer. He was the only one who had seen this place in the 60s. Not much had changed on the outside, though he knew how much construction had taken place inside in those fifty years. Some part of him preferred it as rubble. He sighed and let the gate swing shut behind him.

Sir Reginald was waiting for them in the foyer.

Five spread his arms. "Long time no see, stranger."

"We're ba~aaack," Klaus sing-songed.

Sir Reginald looked like he was already regretting his choices.

Diego steeled himself and stepped up. "We're not staying."

"We're not?" Klaus echoed.

"We're only here because of Vanya's friend. _Not_ for you."

Sir Reginald regarded him with the cold detachment of a scientist with a specimen. "I can work with that," he said simply.

"Why _are_ we here?" Luther asked.

Sir Reginald's steely eyes swept over his six long-lost children. "Simple. I need all of you."

"For what?" Five said, with a suspicion that he already knew the answer, and was dreading to hear it.

"You've got your shiny new team," Allison said. "What do you need us for?"

Sir Reginald answered, as if it was quite obvious, "To stop the apocalypse."

The siblings turned to look at Vanya. She groaned. "Oh, god, what did I do _now_?"


End file.
